


Rub-a-Dub-Dub, Two Men in a Tub

by speccygeekgrrl



Category: Mystery Science Theater 3000
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Competition, Hand Jobs, M/M, What a couple of absolute dorks, episode tag: s06e08 Code Name Diamond Head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-23 10:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11400273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/pseuds/speccygeekgrrl
Summary: The battle of who-can-get-cleanest quickly devolves into something very dirty. Two men in a tub isn't the most comfortable thing in the world, but they make it work. (They've made weirder and less fun things work.)





	Rub-a-Dub-Dub, Two Men in a Tub

**Author's Note:**

> Guys. This six day MST3K Twitch marathon broke me. I was writing smut of these two when I was in high school, literally over half my life ago. Writing this felt like coming home. There's something wrong with me, lol. Anyways [here's the host segment that started this whole shenanigans](https://youtu.be/ruqODm3k5nI?t=2m36s) and [here's the ending bit that wouldn't happen because of this fic](https://youtu.be/ruqODm3k5nI?t=1h30m19s) (although I'm pretty sure Mike and the bots would be relieved to not see the alternate ending, lol).

They'd started off complimenting each other in comparison to the filth up on the SOL, but they devolved into competition and then into insults in barely a minute. "You're one to talk, with your clammy body..."

"Clammy?!" Frank said, in shock. "You're clammy!"

"Clammy," Forrester repeated, poking Frank with one long finger. "You're King Clammy."

"I'm not clammy, you're clammy," Frank shot back, and they quickly devolved into pushing each other shouting 'clammy' until Forrester pushed Frank hard enough to send him sprawling and went to fill a basin with soapy water and start emphatically washing himself. Of course, Frank had to do it too, and they barely paid any attention to Mike and the bots, sending them the movie as a side thought and an interruption from the cleaning match. Frank stuck his head in the basin for a little too long, drowned, and fell to the floor, bringing the basin with him. It took Forrester a minute to notice, but then he sighed heavily and resuscitated Frank for the god-only-knew-how-manyth-time. Frank coughed up soapy water and groaned, his head falling back against the floor with a thud.

"Now you're _definitely_ clammy," Forrester said, and Frank glared up at him. "Just admit that I'm cleaner than you."

"I admit _nothing_ ," Frank said, sitting up with a wince. "In fact, I'm going to take a bath right now."

"Oh, you think so, do you?"

"You can't stop me."

"Just watch me." Honestly, he should have known better. Trying to stop Frank by doing the thing Frank wanted to do never worked. Frank was a consummate master of the art of making himself as annoying as humanly possible, which this time expressed itself by him climbing into the tub Forrester was already occupying. For a second they just scowled at each other from opposite ends of the tub. Frank's chubby butt pinned Forrester's bony ankles to one side of the tub, and Forrester kicked fruitlessly trying to release them. "Get off me, you idiot."

"I might be an idiot, but I'm a squeaky-clean idiot," Frank said, pinching his foot in retaliation. "Come on, Clay, why do you have to be so mean?"

"Why do you have to be so dumb?"

"Why do you have to be so gross and dirty?"

"How _dare_ you?" Forrester reached over the edge of the tub to grab a scrub brush and a bar of soap and started vigorously scrubbing himself. Frank found a bottle of shampoo and proceeded to give himself quite an impressive turban of creamy white bubbles crowning his already white hair, blinking away the suds dripping in his eyes because he was too stubborn to stop lathering. After a couple of minutes Forrester seemed to realize that scrubbing the sleeve of his lab coat was fairly fruitless, so he wriggled around wetly until he tossed the soaked green coat out of the tub and started in on the buttons of his shirt. Still blinking furiously, Frank dipped his hands to get the shampoo off and wiped his eyes clear just to stare unimpeded at this perfunctory striptease.

"You, uh..." It wasn't the first time he'd seen Dr. F shirtless, but it was a rare enough sight to appreciate it fully when he could. The mad scientist was lanky and slim underneath his layers, and as soon as he was stripped to the waist he started back in with the scrub brush until his pale skin turned pink. "Don't hurt yourself," he said blankly.

"Oh, like you care," Forrester spat. "The top two layers of skin are dying off anyways, if I take them off I'll be the cleanest I've ever been."

"I have an exfoliator for that," Frank said snidely, reaching for a loofah sponge and rubbing it all over his own face. He tried to keep his eyes closed because looking at the half-naked man at the other end of the tub was very... very distracting. Here he was trying to get clean, and all his thoughts had taken a distinctly filthy turn. Stupid sexy scientist and his unfairly attractive... everything. Sneaking glances swiftly devolved back into staring, and it didn't take long for Forrester to notice.

"What's your problem?"

"Problem? I don't have a problem. Why would I have a problem?"

"Looks like you have a staring problem."

"That's your egomania talking," Frank lied. "I'm just seeing how many germs I can spot on you from this distance." Forrester sneered and splashed Frank, getting him right in the face and making him sputter.

"At least I'm not sitting around in my own half-washed laundry," he said, and-- oh, it was on. Frank started unbuttoning his jacket slowly and contemptuously and Forrester pushed his glasses up his nose and stared right back. After a minute of mutual glaring, Frank dropped his jacket over the side of the tub and crossed his arms over his chest, daring Dr. F to say anything else. Mustache twitching up as he smirked, Forrester very slowly and clearly enunciated, "King Clammy."

"Oh you son of a--" Frank lunged across the tub in a half-assed attempt to... he didn't even know. Drown him? Smack him? Wash his hair? Whatever the undetermined intent had been, the practical effect was that he ended up on top of Forrester, wet bodies sliding together, and that goddamn smirk was just so unbearable and all Frank could think to do to erase it was to kiss him. For a second Forrester froze, and then he dug his fingers into Frank's shoulders, painfully holding him in place for Clayton to take control of the kiss.

"Maybe you aren't clammy," he conceded breathlessly after a long moment of biting Frank's lip until he squeaked. "You're actually... very warm."

"So are you." As soon as there weren't nails digging into his skin Frank shifted slightly, hiding his flushed face against Clayton's neck as their hips collided, wet clinging fabric doing less than nothing to hide how turned on he was.

"Staring problem," Clayton said smugly, sliding a hand up into Frank's hair and tugging almost tenderly. "No discretion."

"What do you know about discretion?" Frank was trying to sound scornful, but ended somewhere closer to the neighborhood of yearning. Clayton huffed a laugh.

"Not much," he admitted, getting a leg around Frank's hip and proving he'd been equally affected. Frank shivered and ground down against him, dragging a gasp out of Clayton's throat that made Frank do it again almost helplessly. They clung to each other tightly, and Clayton laughed again, a tremor that Frank could feel from head to toe. "I don't think either of us is getting cleaner than this today."

"You're clean enough for me," Frank said. He nuzzled Clayton's throat and added, "You still smell wonderful." It wasn't exactly comfortable rubbing together through layers of fabric, but it was significantly better than not doing it at all, so he wasn't about to stop.

"Shift up a second," Clayton said, and got a hand between them to grope Frank directly, humming with satisfaction at the handful he found. "Not bad, Frankalicious." Whatever witty retort Frank liked to pretend he might have come up with died with a whimper when Clayton squeezed him teasingly. He wasn't in a great position to retort in kind, so he bit that pale neck instead, no qualms whatsoever in leaving a hickey where anyone could notice it.

The bath water started to cool, but they barely noticed with the heat they were generating between them. Clayton's glasses were all fogged up when Frank raised his head, and he carefully lifted them off and set them aside, grinning when dark eyes came into view. "You look flustered."

"You're one to talk," Clayton said, giving him another squeeze that made Frank's lashes flutter. "This is all your fault, you know." He didn't sound accusatory, more... happy? Happy was rare and wonderful. Frank kissed him instead of responding, not sure it was _all_ his fault but willing to take the blame for it anyways. Kissing was also rare and wonderful, the ticklish brush of bristly mustache against his skin and the delicious sting of teeth around his lower lip. Frank didn't realize how close he was until Clayton got one of those damnably clever hands into his pants at the same time he bit Frank's ear and-- well, that was apparently more than he could take, melting against him with an embarrassingly throaty sound as all their washing up came to a messy naught.

"Oh god, Clay," he sighed.

"Keep conflating the two," Clayton said cheerfully, slowly removing his hand and swishing it in the bathwater to get the worst of the mess off. "And maybe get off of me, my leg is falling asleep."

"Oh, sorry..." Frank moved back to the other end of the tub but pulled on Clayton's hand as he got settled. "You want to come over here so I can touch you?" He didn't need to ask twice to get a lap full of attention-hungry scientist, and he wasted no time in freeing Clayton's arousal where it had been trapped down one pants leg. Clayton managed to hang onto his dignity for a solid twenty seconds of biting the inside of his cheek before he made a whimpery pleading sound and thrust into Frank's hand.

"Why are your hands so ridiculously soft?" he asked, almost complaining, and Frank tightened his grip and smiled.

"I exfoliate... you seem to think they're too soft," he said, turning his wrist to drag his nails over heated, vulnerable skin. Clayton's eyes flew wide and his whole body shuddered. "Well, that's... not surprising at all." He repeated the motion a little more firmly, this time getting a quiet, needy whine in return.

"Frank, I swear to god, if you don't--" The threat fell apart into a moan when Frank scraped his thumbnail against that sensitive spot under the head, just enough pain with the pleasure to push Clayton over the edge. He made a soft shocked sound and dropped his head to Frank's shoulder, gasping for breath.

"There you go," Frank cooed, kissing Clayton's flyaway hair. "I think we're both equally filthy now."

"For the moment," Clayton said, but he sounded hazy and not bothered. Frank was perfectly content to stay there indefinitely, cuddling in the lukewarm water, but he only got a couple minutes of snuggling before Clayton shook himself and started backing off. Frank pouted, and Clayton rolled his eyes. "A cooling tub is not the most comfortable place for an afterglow," he pointed out. "I think a bed is a much better place for it..." He trailed off, an invitation in his gaze that he couldn't quite bring himself to voice. They'd been together long enough that Frank didn't need to hear it aloud to get the point.

"Sounds great, pookie," he chirped. They left their sodden clothes on the bathroom floor in favor of their bathrobes (bright green for Clayton, obviously, and a lovely pale pink for Frank). As they walked across Deep 13, Frank's brow creased.

"Weren't we doing something today...?"

"Hmm? Oh... Push the button, Frank."


End file.
